


Some Sort of Peace

by Wynja2007



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Afterlife, Angst, Gen, Halls of Mandos, Second Chances
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-28
Updated: 2015-07-28
Packaged: 2018-04-11 19:20:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4449044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wynja2007/pseuds/Wynja2007
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mandos walks his halls and observes one of his more special residents...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Some Sort of Peace

**Author's Note:**

  * For [telemachus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/telemachus/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Do Not Forsake Me](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3493961) by [telemachus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/telemachus/pseuds/telemachus). 



> Probably won't make much sense unless you've read the haunting 'Do Not Foresake Me' by Telemachus. Note that while 'Some Sort of Peace' has a general rating, the originating story was much, much darker...

Mandos, also known as Námo, Doomsman of the Valar, walked his halls. Everywhere was calm, softly placid, dim and dark and soothing. Gloomy, some might say, but the ambience was carefully created for the best care of the fëar of those in his care. They needed rest, contemplation, calm...

But here and there, special cases required particular attention and Námo found his attention drawn by a tantalising glimpse through the gloom to a bright little patch of daylight which seemed at once close by, and far, far away, both part of the Halls of Mandos and yet utterly removed from its sombre, stately boundaries.

He waved to one of his many Maia minions.

‘What is this?’

‘My lord, it is one of our special projects. It is all we can presently do for him.’

Námo folded his hands behind his back and looked down on the scene playing out far below him. It could have been anywhere, it could have been anyone.

But it was not.

So far away as to be unobserved by the persons in the scene, still the Vala could see and hear all that passed quite clearly.

A small elfling with black hair was running, giggling, across a wide expanse of kitchen garden. Hens clucked in protest, whirring their wings to flutter away from him. His eyes were bright with joy and mischief as he ran.

‘Come now, penneth,’ an elleth was calling. ‘Leave off playing with those chickens! It is time for your lessons... Erestor? Erestor, it is reading practice today...’

‘He never knew his parents, not really,’ the Maia said. ‘And certainly not for long.’

‘So we give him a new family, a new start, is that it?’

‘He never knew what it was to be loved. This is why we have taken his fëa so far back.’

‘And the elleth?’

‘Actually, his mother. She volunteered for this. She never forgave herself for dying. Not that it was her choice...’

The elleth set off after the elfling, a smile in her voice, soon catching up with him and swinging him up into her arms. The giggles turned to laughter as the two hugged and the elleth carried her little one off towards a building in the near distance.

‘Erestor... I remember him coming in. It was most distressing.’

‘Most distressing indeed.’

‘Currently, he looks happy, he is loved. How old is he there?’

‘Around seventeen.’

‘Ah. A lovely age, they are so inquisitive, so happy, so loving...’

‘Yes. Of course, he has been seventeen for several hundred years. But he has, at last, some sort of peace.’

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from one of Telemachus' replies to a comment left on Chapter 32 of 'Do Not Foresake Me'


End file.
